


A Thing Immortal

by phantomviola



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ben Hargreeves-centric, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, elements of angst, the low-key existential horror of the Hargreeves’ upbringing, truly excessive Shakespeare references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomviola/pseuds/phantomviola
Summary: [When Ben tried, years later, to recall if there was anything different about the mission they were assigned on the seventh of December, 2006 — any indication that the night would change the Academy, and their family, forever — the only thing Ben could come up with was this: Klaus showed up to the briefing on time and sober.Sure, he had slouched into breakfast that morning nursing a hangover, missed two-thirds of sparring practice, and doodled all over his decryption exercises. But for the first time since their seventeenth birthday, when the members of the Umbrella Academy were summoned to the briefing room, Klaus tagged along, caustic and clear-eyed.]Ben lives. This does not stop the Academy from splintering.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 46
Kudos: 97





	1. to bloody battles and to bruising arms

When Ben tried, years later, to recall if there was anything different about the mission they were assigned on the seventh of December, 2006 — any indication that the night would change the Academy, and their family, forever — the only thing Ben could come up with was this: Klaus showed up to the briefing on time and sober.

Sure, he had slouched into breakfast that morning nursing a hangover, missed two-thirds of sparring practice, and doodled all over his decryption exercises. But for the first time since their seventeenth birthday, when the members of the Umbrella Academy were summoned to the briefing room, Klaus tagged along, caustic and clear-eyed.

Sir Reginald regarded his children with a look somewhere between disapproval and disinterest as they filed into the room. The desks, arranged in three rows of two, were probably too small for them by now, but sitting in them lent a sense of comfortable familiarity to the briefing. Ben’s own desk in the back row was as neat and tidy as Luther’s in the front, while Klaus’ was stained with drips of nail polish that Allison had been brave enough to sneak into a briefing but not to use herself. Klaus plopped into Diego’s seat in the front row, examining the rows of idle knife-marks, and it took Diego two shoves — “Get out of my seat, you skinny lump—” to kick Klaus out and into his own seat in the middle row. 

Ben watched them with a flicker of irritation — it had been almost nine p.m. when the mission siren had sounded, and training that day had been exhausting enough without a mission tacked on the end. The only solace was that dad might actually let them sleep in the next day if the mission ran late enough into the night. Still, the sooner they could start, the sooner it would be over.

As if reading Ben’s thoughts, Sir Reginald cleared his throat and switched off the lights. The ancient slide projector flickered to life. 

Projected on the screen was some sort of schematic for a futuristic-looking gun straight out of a sci-fi B movie. “I have received intelligence,” Sir Reginald said, “that a highly skilled team of insurgents is targeting a national military facility where the prototype to some very advanced weaponry is being held.”

In the seat in front of Ben, Klaus snorted and slouched down in his chair. “Sounds like a great job for the actual military.” 

Sir Reginald’s eyes flicked to Klaus disapprovingly before advancing to the next slide. A map of a small installation appeared on the projection screen. “There are two entrances to the facility, to the east and to the west. I’m told the eastern gate was breached while the western gate is unmanned but secure.” Using his walking stick, he pointed out a building in the center of the enclosure. “The prototype has been stored temporarily in the control tower for calibration. This will be their target. The control tower also houses radio beacons that will block the weapon from being activated illicitly. Therefore, Numbers One and Three, you will form Alpha Team, and your objective is to dispatch with the attackers and reclaim the prototype.” Luther turned around in his seat to share a brief excited smile with Allison. 

“Numbers Two and Six, you will form Beta Team,” Sir Reginald continued, clicking forward to the next slide, projecting a black and white image of a spindly tower. “Your _sole_ objective is to secure the control tower. It is of the _utmost importance_ that those radio beacons remain operational, which is why we cannot allow any opportunity for the insurgents to disable them.” He flicked forward to an image of an oven-sized machine with a satellite dish on top. “Once you’ve established a position in the control room, you are not to abandon it until the extraction team relieves you. Is that understood?” Ben nodded, as did Diego in the front row. The atmosphere was unusually serious for a mission briefing.

Which was Klaus’ cue to chime in.

“What’s my objective, dear papá?” he asked, leaning forward to prop his elbows up on the desk and rest his face between his hands in a parody of attentiveness. 

“Number Four, you will be on lookout at the East Gate.” He flicked the slide back to the map and regarded Klaus with a steely expression. “I trust you can handle that?”

Klaus lolled back in his chair. “Lookout, yippee.” He perked up for a second. “Wait, the _East_ Gate? If it’s already been breached, what exactly am I _looking out_ for?”

Sir Reginald stamped his cane on the ground in a definitive _thud_. “Dismissed. Your transport leaves from the roof in five minutes.”

Ben scrambled up, the first to exit the briefing room and jog down to the armory. He didn’t need a lot of equipment, so once he had stuffed a couple flash grenades in his tactical bag, he helped Diego load extra knives into his shoulder harness. Ben was grateful that their father no longer required them to wear the school-style uniforms for missions that the press was unlikely to appear at, but wasn’t thrilled with the leather jumpsuits either. They made him conscious of every little growth spurt. Diego, meanwhile, seemed at ease in them. 

Ben gave Diego’s harness a final tug. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Diego said, as Allison thrust a radio into his hands.

“Here,” she said, handing one to Ben as well, leaving her with one extra comm set. Allison looked around in confusion. “Where the hell is Klaus?”

“Coming, dear,” came a voice from the doorway. Ben turned and saw Klaus tucking a magazine leisurely into his bag. 

Luther, the closest to the doorway, reached out and snatched the magazine away. “Let’s take this seriously for once, Klaus, okay? You can…” he examined Klaus’ reading material for a second before chucking it away, “... _check your horoscope_ when we get back.”

Klaus pouted. “You heard dad, he’s practically giving me the night off.” 

“That is _not_ what he said,” Allison countered, tossing the comm set to him.

Clutching the radio to his chest, Klaus adopted a stiff-backed posture and overly formal English accent: “ _Klaus, keep watch on the perimeter that’s already breached, despite the fact that_ Beta Team _is going to be stationed in an elevated position with panoramic views of the entire facility.”_ He slouched and tucked the radio into his bag. “I gotta stave off boredom somehow.”

“We’re not getting dropped off at the control tower, we actually have to fight our way up there,” Diego snapped, hoisting his bag onto his back, “so if you could stay focused on the mission for, oh, I dunno, twenty minutes or so while we do the _real work_ of eliminating the bad guys, I’m sure we would all appreciate it, if only for the novelty factor.”

Ignoring the squabbling, Ben crouched and turned over the magazine from where it had landed by his feet. On the cover, a placid waif with constellations painted on their belly lounged against a blue-green strand of DNA, advertising an article entitled THE ASTROLOGY OF GMOs. “I don’t even know how you can read this stuff,” Ben said, returning to standing, “we were all born with _exactly_ the same birth sign or planetary configuration or whatever, and look at how different we all turned out.”

“Different how?” Klaus tossed his hands up in mock confusion. “All I see is a group of—” the blare of a helicopter descending onto the roof forced his voice to crescendo to a near-shout, “—harmonious, _justice-minded, TEAM-SPIRITED_ **_LIBRAS_** _._ ”

Luther sprung into action at the sound of the helicopter. “Chopper’s here,” he called, having to raise his voice as well, “let’s move out.” 

Luther pushed past Klaus, who remained stubbornly in the doorway. Allison shook her head as she walked out past him. It was Diego who managed to shove him out towards the stairs, although Klaus ducked down to pop up next to Ben and throw an arm over Ben’s shoulders as they jogged up to the roof. 

“C’mon, Benny, lighten up,” he said. “It’s just another game of ‘capture-the-flag’ with _…_ well, _dire geopolitical consequences_ if we fail. You know. The usual.” He pulled Ben down into a near-headlock.

Ben could appreciate Klaus’s attempts at levity, but trying to give him a noogie was the last straw. Ben wasn’t _that_ much shorter than him, and his height was a bit of a sore spot ever since Allison had outgrown him. Ben scrambled ahead to try to get a window seat, only to find they had already been claimed by Diego and Allison. Luther was sitting up front by the military pilot who was already regarding the group of teenagers with a somewhat skeptical expression. Ben understood that. He would probably be skeptical about them too. But despite any trepidation, as soon as Ben and Klaus were strapped into their seats, the helicopter started ascending, flying them away from the Academy and into darkness. 

* * *

After nearly an hour in the air, the pilot’s voice crackled over their headsets. “My orders are to drop you kids in a field about two hundred yards south of the facility. We’re about ten minutes out. Over.” 

“Roger that,” Luther replied. 

Ben glanced at Klaus, to his right, expecting to see some kind of reaction to the pilot’s use of “kids,” and realized his brother had, at some point, swapped the helicopter’s communication headsets for his own ancient Walkman, his head bobbing slightly to the music with his eyes closed. 

Ben elbowed his brother. When Klaus opened his eyes, Ben mouthed, _‘almost there.’_ Klaus nodded in thanks and tucked his Walkman into his bag, reapplying the real headset. Ben caught a glimpse of something glinting in Klaus’ bag— a flask? Turning away from Ben’s questioning look, Klaus leaned into Diego as far as the helicopter seat’s straps would allow, invading his personal space to peer through the window into the darkness. 

It was Allison that spotted their target first, as the helicopter turned west towards their landing site. The tower itself looked more like a fire lookout spot than a fortified military tower, all spindly legs and exposed stairs, the control room surrounded by a metal balcony. Large flood lights shone down from the control tower to illuminate the installation, which was surrounded by an aluminum wall topped with barbed wire. At least they wouldn’t be fighting in darkness. 

As the helicopter touched down, the pilot relayed the safety instructions that Ben was pretty sure had been drilled into them over a decade ago — exit out the sides, stay crouched, keep their bags below their waists, not on their backs. Ben and the others secured their masks, which for once served a practical purpose helping them keep the swirling dust out of their eyes, and Allison tucked her braid into the back of her uniform.

At Luther’s signal, they exited the helicopter in a low sprint, Luther and Allison leading the way and Ben falling back to bring up the rear with Diego. They dashed towards a copse of trees halfway between the landing site and the facility. Ben hoped it had done something to disguise their arrival. Luther and Allison hid themselves behind trees towards the front, while Klaus threw himself on the ground behind a bush. 

When he reached the trees, Ben turned and pressed his back to an oak, watching as the helicopter ascended and melted into darkness. Peeking out, he saw a single figure dressed in dark clothing at the eastern gate, searching the darkness, a walkie-talkie in his hand and a machine gun over his shoulder. He was standing over two crumpled figures in fatigues. An unmarked van — the getaway vehicle? — was parked not far away. Luther’s whispered voice crackled over their radios. _“Number Two, I’ve got one enemy at the eastern gate. Think you can handle him?”_

Ben could hear Diego’s snort somewhere to his right, although it didn’t carry over the radio. Looking over, he saw Diego’s silhouette unsheath a knife and send it curving in front of Luther and Allison, before breaking through the trees and straight towards the enemy. He didn’t have time to react before it pierced him straight through the heart and pinned him to the wall with a dull _clang._ Diego gave a swift fist pump, while Luther held up a hand in the _hold_ position as he watched for any further activity. 

A moment later, satisfied that no one had noticed the attack, Luther signalled them to advance, and they quickly jogged in formation towards the aluminum perimeter. From his place pressed against the wall, Ben had a clear view of the two dead soldiers who must have been shot guarding the gates from the attackers. It made his stomach churn. 

Klaus’ voice, though still a whisper, was loud enough to make Ben flinch. “There were six of them. The enemies, baddies, whatever.” 

Luther, the closest to the gate, jerked a thumb towards the insurgent Diego had killed. “This guy tell you that?”

“Yes, I often pass on disinformation from dead enemies.” It was impossible to tell behind the mask, but Ben would've bet good money that Klaus was rolling his eyes. _“No,_ fearless leader, the soldiers told me. They’re worried their commander and maybe their weapons specialist are being held for information in the tower while these mofos try to get this… _super-gun_ up and running.” Klaus made a flitting hand-gesture. “Now fly free, little birdies.” Ben couldn’t be sure if he was talking to his siblings or the dead soldiers, but Luther was apparently satisfied with the intel. 

“Alright, Allison and I are going to cross the gate. Keep your eyes peeled for enemies and see if you can spot any cover,” Luther instructed. He and Allison dashed to the other side of the gate, still on the outside of the wall but with a better vantage point to the inside of the installation. 

Klaus, Ben, and Diego advanced slowly towards the gate’s opening. Ben was now close enough to the dead attacker to smell his blood in the air. Reeling slightly, he started to rock forward on his knees but was pushed back against the wall by Diego, who signalled urgently that he had heard someone patrolling on the other side. Allison and Luther would be coming into their sightline momentarily. He sent a short burst of static over the radio in warning.

Pressed as he was into the wall, Ben couldn’t be sure they’d gotten the message. The footsteps grew more clear, until the person must be almost at the gate, and then — 

_“I heard a rumor you let go of your gun.”_ Ben heard the _thud_ of the enemy’s gun dropping to the ground. Allison’s voice got stronger as she pressed her advantage. _“I heard a rumor you knelt over here with your hands behind your head. Quietly.”_

Ben only had to lean forward slightly to see a bald, imposing figure exit the gate and kneel at Allison’s feet. 

_“I heard a rumor you answered my questions honestly,”_ Allison continued. “We heard there were six of you, is that true?” The enemy gave a nod. “Good, where?”

“One at the gate,” he intoned, “I was on patrol. One at the base of the tower, three more inside.” 

“They know we’re here?” Allison asked. 

The bald man shook his head. “My boss heard a helicopter but he’s convinced it was just doing a flyby for surveillance.” 

At Allison’s approving nod, Luther shoved the man to the side and secured his hands with zip ties. When she was satisfied the bound man was fully invisible to the gate’s opening, she spoke again. _“I heard a rumor you didn’t move a muscle,”_ Allison said, turning away. Although the man was now almost fully out of sight, Ben could see him go deathly still.

Ben watched for a few seconds. Surely she would let him breathe, right? He grew increasingly alarmed, until he couldn’t help but hiss, “Allison!” over the radio. 

“Okay, fine,” Allison huffed, turning back with exasperation. _“I heard a rumor you didn’t move a muscle, except to breathe, blink, or perform any bodily functions absolutely vital to life itself until I tell you otherwise.”_

The kneeling man took a gasping breath but otherwise remained as still as a statue. 

Klaus elbowed Ben in the ribs, making him jump slightly. “Geez, Diego can skewer a dude like a shish kabob and you don’t say a word, but Allison _lightly_ chokes a guy to death with her freaky mind powers and you get an attack of the warm and fuzzies. Double standards, I tell you,” Klaus tutted. 

Diego reached behind Ben to give Klaus a soft smack upside the head. 

Luther’s voice crackled over the radio. _“Alpha Team’s going in. Beta Team, count to ten then follow us. I can see a Jeep parked at ten o’clock that you can use for cover.”_

Ben turned to Diego and they nodded in unison. Next to them, Klaus slid down the wall and muttered, “Team Klaus will be on babysitting duty at the East Gate.”

Diego crept past Ben, giving Klaus’s hair a friendly ruffle that made him hiss like a cat. Diego smirked and stopped directly in front of the enemy he’d killed, still pinned to the wall. He peered around the edge of the gate, then leaned back to give Ben the _all clear_ signal. Nodding, Ben followed Diego and dashed into the enclosure. It was the first time Ben had seen any more than a sliver of the installment, and he could now see several low buildings encircling the control tower, some with shattered windows or bullet holes. 

As he crossed through the gate, Ben nearly tripped over the gun dropped by the man Allison had incapacitated outside the gate. Sparing it a backward glance, he righted himself then sprinted forward to press himself next to Diego by the car. The two brothers had both made it to the Jeep, but not without drawing the attention of the goon stationed at the base of the control tower’s stairs. Ben flinched as he heard the whiz of nearby bullets striking the car. Luther and Allison were nowhere to be seen.

Ben could see Diego preparing to pop up for a second to aim one of his knives, but grabbed his sleeve and held him fast. “Remember what dad said. Luther and Allison are supposed to take care of these guys. Let’s give them a chance.”

Diego pulled his sleeve from Ben’s grip but stayed down. “I’ll give _Alpha Team_ until the magazine runs out, then they’re mine. I’m not here to be a distraction.” 

Ben nodded. That was fair. 

As soon as the firing paused, Diego jumped up, and Ben realized he had his knife aimed not for the gunman on the ground but much higher. Diego dropped back down as soon as he let it fly, and the knife found its target with a distant _thunk_ a second later. The firing resumed, getting marginally closer, and Ben looked at his brother in confusion. Why hadn’t he taken out the shooter when he had the chance?

Diego grinned, and seeing the confusion on Ben’s face, explained, “Last thing we want is for them to start firing on us from on high. So I jammed the door to the control tower. I figure Luther can use those big, strong muscles of his to _unjam_ it when we get that far.”

As if summoned by his name, Ben heard Luther emerge from his hiding spot with a battle cry, swinging something impossibly heavy which knocked the shooter to the ground with a sickening _crunch_. 

The air stilled. When Ben was sure that there were no more bullets coming, he tentatively leaned around the Jeep’s bumper and saw the gunman lying dead, pinned to the ground by a huge metal flagpole. Ben felt his mouth fall open.

Luther’s voice crackled over the radio. _“Clear. Alpha Team is on the stairs. Beta Team may follow.”_

“Oh _may we,_ now,” Diego gritted out, although he kept the radio muted. His good mood evaporated at being upstaged by Luther, he yanked Ben up and they started to creep towards the stairs, still mostly keeping to well-covered areas. 

_“Three down, three to go,”_ Allison announced triumphantly over the radio, giving them a little wave from their position a flight or two above them.

_“Team Klaus is twiddling our thumbs out here,”_ Klaus added. _“Go team!”_

“Yeah, well, the last three are stuck up in the control tower for the moment. You’re welcome, you guys,” snapped Diego, as he and Ben reached the base of the stairs.

_“Thanks Diego,”_ Klaus chorused in a sing-song voice over the radio.

Diego and Ben hurried up the stairs, keeping a close eye on the exposed metal flights above them. There was virtually no cover, from either the ground or the tower, and it put Ben on edge. An agonizing but blessedly quiet minute later, they caught up with Allison and Luther on the final landing nearest the top. 

“Okay, good work guys, we’re almost there,” Luther said seriously, clapping Ben’s arm. “Now it’s Beta Team’s time to shine.”

Diego shook his head. “I jammed the door. You’re the only one that’s going to be able to open it without explosives, which, _hello,_ can’t be used safely up here.” He gestured around to the rickety spire.

“Okay, fine, Alpha Team will take the lead—” Luther started.

Ben surprised himself by interrupting with a thought of his own. “We should consider the possibility that they’ve _already_ disabled the radio beacons and are going to meet us with whatever crazy superweapon they were after,” Ben said. 

It was Allison that responded. “Okay, but you’d think if they really did have some mega-powerful gun on hand they would have gotten the door open already.”

Ben shook his head. “Not if they’re afraid it’s so powerful it might bring the tower down, like Diego was worried about with the explosives. But that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t turn it on us if we manage to bust the door down. If they have it up and running, we don’t stand a chance if half of us are still hanging out on this landing.” He took a deep breath. “Look, it’s not about Alpha Team and Beta Team anymore, we all need to work _together_ at this point. _Especially_ if there are hostages in there.” 

It was the most Ben had ever contributed to a mission plan, and when he was done, he wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut and let Allison and Luther take their merry lead. 

But he seemed to have convinced Luther, who slowly nodded. Allison’s eyes seemed to flick between Ben and Luther behind her mask, and she crossed her arms and nodded as well. “I’m in.”

Diego grinned and gave Ben a friendly shoulder punch. “Good thinking, bro.”

“Okay, I guess me and Number Six will be up front,” Luther instructed. “Ben, as soon as I get the door open, I want you to grab whoever you can, got it? Then Diego and Allison can sweep in and pin the rest down.” 

Ben nodded, his confidence draining into queasiness as he realized he would need to unleash The Horror. The possibility that there were hostages in the room meant he would have to try as hard as he could not to go all… _Alien-chest-burst-y_ on them until he could be sure who was who.

Quietly, the four siblings crept up the final flight of stairs to the control room, staying low. Diego’s knife was still embedded in the door’s lock, but the metal door itself was dented _outward,_ as if someone had been trying to ram it open from the inside. Luther pulled the knife out easily, but when he tried to pry the door open, it still wouldn’t budge. Frowning, Luther darted to the other side of the door and started to examine the hinges. The door was solid enough that Diego’s jamming trick had held up in the few minutes it had taken them to get up there, but now its strength seemed to be working against them. 

Luther gave them the signal to hold, then tiptoed to the edge of the balcony, facing the door. Seeing the sheer hundred-foot drop behind his brother made Ben’s stomach turn. Ben’s eyes flickered up to the windows, hoping no one was looking out. 

Suddenly, Luther sprang up and, after a running start, threw himself shoulder-first against the door. The blow wasn’t strong enough to bash the door in, but Luther’s body-blow had inverted the dent and wrenched the top hinges off the door frame. Luther stood quickly and started to pull the door out of its frame by its hinges. 

Luther’s move was effective, but it sure wasn’t subtle. Ben heard a commotion in the control room, someone yelling, _“The fuck was that?!”_

Luther was straining at the door, but had managed to create only a football-sized gap in the upper left corner. Ben grabbed one of the flash grenades from his bag and jumped up, conscious of how exposed he and Luther were. Nodding approvingly, Luther withdrew his hands long enough for Ben to pull the pin and toss the stun grenade inside, then grabbed Ben and pulled him flat against the metal of the balcony. 

A second later, Ben heard the _bang!_ of the flash grenade detonating in the control room, followed by confused shouts. Luther jumped back up and with a mighty grunt, wrenched the door fully out of the frame, tossing it aside. Ben rolled to the side to avoid being crushed by the metal door, and it was only Allison’s hand grabbing his ankle that made him realize he was less than a foot from rolling all the way off the side of the tower. 

Glancing down, Ben could see a pinprick of light by the East Gate. He frowned, momentarily distracted. Klaus had been pretty good about staying clear-headed on missions, even if he was blowing off training these days more often than not. He hoped the light belonged to a cigarette (disgusting as Ben found them) rather than a joint. 

Refocusing on his surroundings, Ben inched back from the edge and tried to give Allison a nod of thanks, but Luther was grabbing his arm and pulling him up. He spun Ben towards the control room so quickly it disoriented him, and gave him a little shove through the now-empty door frame. 

The control room was still smoky, and Ben closed his eyes and focused on that acrid stench, letting disgust seep into his stomach, curl around The Horror, and draw it out. 

Ben heard a clatter to his left, someone fumbling blindly, and as he opened his eyes he felt a tentacle shoot out and wrap around the man’s legs and torso, violently heaving him against the wall. Revulsion gripped his stomach as he fought The Horror’s instinct to tear the man from limb to limb. _More,_ The Horror whispered, and Ben felt himself actually shaking his head in resistance. To his right, a second man staggered through the smoke, eyes unfocused either by the flash or disbelief at the sight of Ben’s gruesome visage. _Yes_ , whispered The Horror, darting out to nab him, _Prey. Mine._

He wanted to — _wanted to tear this man’s flesh_ _—_ _hear his screams_ _—_ Ben was fully shaking now — a third tentacle shot out and thrashed blindly in the smoke— _prey prey prey_ —The Horror’s impulses were overwhelming his own — _mineminemine_ — growing impatient at the bloodless fighting —

A third man — the boss, Ben guessed — stumbled out of the smoke, and as he drew up to standing Ben could see he was wielding the weapon they’d been seeking. 

The gun that had once looked like a silly prop now looked menacingly lethal as he aimed it straight at Ben’s head. 

The Horror could grab him easily, Ben was sure of it, but he was using all of his concentration to subdue The Horror’s killer instincts — _moremoremore mineminemine_ — and he was sure if he ceded control and let The Horror take over It would flay alive the two men already in Its grasp, without stopping to determine if they were attackers or hostages making a desperate escape attempt. 

Ben could have cried with relief when he heard Allison appear behind him, calling out, _“I heard a rum_ mmpf—!” —someone had jumped out from their cover under a table and grabbed her, covering her mouth and interrupting the rumor before it could take hold.

Ben’s head swam as he tried to reconcile the scene: three attackers in the tower minus the one holding Allison and one with the weapon trained on him left only _one_ attacker, which meant that _at least_ one of the men in The Horror’s grasp was a hostage. With shuddering breath Ben redoubled his concentration at keeping The Horror under his reign — _moremoremore preypreyprey_ —

— Diego and Luther burst in behind them, Luther rushing to Allison’s aid, wrestling off her assailant and snapping his neck with a sickening _crunch_ — Diego let fly a knife that curved between The Horror’s pulsing tentacles and towards the attacker holding the weapon, but not before the man pulled the trigger, aiming right between Ben’s eyes —

— Ben’s thoughts erupted through The Horror’s, racing wildly, comically — _Don’t think ‘I’m too young to die,’ for fuck’s sake, your last thought has to be a_ little _more creative than that_ — Ben braced himself — _I don’t want to die, idon’twanttodie, pleasedontwannadie_ — the tension rippling through his body and reverberating through The Horror’s tentacles, squeezing the men in his grasp in a strangling grip — readying himself for the deadly impact that —

…didn’t come?

The gunman had only a second to regard the weapon in shock before Diego’s knife found its target, embedding itself deep in his temple, and the man crumpled to the ground. 

All his effort spent, Ben collapsed to his knees, recalling The Horror’s tentacles to slither back inside his abdomen and letting the two men in his grasp fall to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title from Hamlet, chapter title from Henry IV Part 1, tower photo from the [National Archives](https://catalog.archives.gov/id/7722290). 
> 
> I'm so happy to be part of the TUA fandom for my first fic in a Long Ass Time (and kinda ever??). I'd love any comments you got for me :) I'm also on tumblr [@flecket](http://flecket.tumblr.com/)


	2. faces pale with flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight ends. Flight begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic descriptions of injury.

Dark spots swam in front of Ben’s eyes. The Horror felt ravenous, venomous, _unsatisfied_ as It settled deep within him. He steeled himself against a wave of nausea. 

Across the room, he heard Allison clear her throat and rumor the final living attacker into submission. 

Through the dissipating smoke, Ben could see that the first man he had grabbed was wearing a military uniform. The man came to his senses slowly and stuttered to explain that he was one of the hostages, begging them _(begging Ben)_ not to hurt him.

Luther placed a steadying hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he asked. 

Ben shook his head, not yet able to speak. 

Luther gave Ben a tentative pat on the back, then crouched to pull the weapon from the dead man’s grip. The room was packed with equipment, and next to a cracked safe sat the two radio beacons. They looked slightly battered, but must have still been functional, given… well, given Ben’s _very_ near scrape with death. 

Nearby, Diego had busied himself in freeing the second hostage from where she was tied to a chair. Ben recognized the insignia on her uniform as that of a captain. When the ties were removed, she stood and surveyed the chaos around her. Her bun was askew, and her uniform stuck to her side where she had received a gash which still trickled with blood. Splinting her side and brushing off Diego’s attempts to examine her wound, the captain came over to check on her subordinate. 

The soldier was breathing heavily, back against the wall and right leg twisted out at a sickening angle. His eyes seemed glued to Ben, and he only looked away when the captain took his hands in a soothing grip. Ben let her calm reassurances wash over him as well, and after a minute, the soldier finally released Ben from his stare and met the captain’s eyes, giving her a tense nod. Apparently satisfied that he was none the worse for wear from The Horror’s _(Ben’s)_ death grip, the captain then turned her attention next to Ben. 

He flinched as she crouched beside him, expecting a rebuke for nearly crushing her soldier to death. Instead he was met with a steady, measuring gaze. 

She didn’t ask if he was okay. Ben wouldn’t have known what to say if she had. Instead, the captain said, “You were very brave.”

The words could have sounded mocking (Diego certainly would have found them patronizing) but it was what Ben needed to hear. 

When Ben didn’t respond — couldn’t think how to — she simply stood and offered him a hand, steadied him as he rose to his feet. He could read her name on her uniform now, Captain Prasad, and he nodded to her in thanks. 

The other hostage, the weapons specialist, had come to his senses and Luther half-carried him over to the center of the room to help disassemble and pack away the target weapon. Upright, his leg had mostly straightened, but Ben noticed he couldn’t put any weight on it and his face flickered with pain intermittently. Getting him down from the tower was going to be hell. Meanwhile, Captain Prasad rejoined Diego, walking him through the steps of verifying that the radio beacons were fully operational. 

The abrupt chaos that had filled the room mere minutes ago was replaced with an air of nervous determination. The end of the mission was in sight. 

“Ben!” Allison called, drawing his attention. “Help me tie this guy up.”

Ben nodded and busied himself helping Allison secure the final living goon’s hands with zip ties. He tried not to notice the bright red marks around the guy’s neck where The Horror had nearly strangled him in Ben’s panic. 

Behind him, Luther snapped the weapons case closed. “I’m going to radio for extraction,” he said, flipping the comm set to the external channel to relay the message. 

Ben flinched slightly as Diego snuck up between them and threw his arms over his and Allison’s shoulders. “So for anyone keeping score at home, that’s two points for Luther, two for me, _zero_ for you chumps.”

Allison threw his arm off indignantly. “I should get credit for both those guys I rumored.” 

Diego snorted, “C’mon Allison, _this dude,”_ he gave the incapacitated thug at their feet a light kick, “was all Ben.”

Allison didn’t give up so easily. “Okay, so one for me, one for Ben.”

“Get real, you know we count kills only.” Diego grinned at Allison and gave Ben’s shoulder a mock-sympathetic squeeze. “Better luck next time.”

When they were young, Ben had dominated the family kill count with no effort at all, although he hated taking credit for The Horror’s prey. Number Five used to keep a tally on those chalkboard walls of his, ticking off each slaying with an air of authority when they returned from missions. Ben had never been the strongest or the fastest, but the death and destruction he could unleash earned him respect from his siblings. 

After Five disappeared they had relocated it, and it gained an official spot on the wall of the gym. Sir Reginald loved to refer to it as he shouted encouragement or, more often, admonishment during their training. Lately, Ben had found his count stagnating and his rank drifting towards the bottom. Diego, now often neck-in-neck with Luther for the top spot, tried to needle him about it but Ben found he couldn’t bring himself to care. Shouldn’t it be a good thing, gaining some measure of control over The Horror’s bloodlust?

Allison was still arguing technicalities with Diego. “I would have gotten that guy by the gate if Ben hadn’t interrupted me—”

Diego waved her off and made a big show of adjusting his radio. “Hey Klaus, how’s the babysitting gig?”

He didn’t get any response from the radio. Diego rolled his eyes behind his mask. “Looks like he tuned out already.” Frowning, Ben walked over to the window and peered out. Diego continued, “Probably listening to Tina Turner on that stupid Walkman of his. It’s the twenty-first century, the guy’s never heard of an iPod?”

The facility was quiet. The East Gate was still. Empty. 

Something tugged at Ben’s memory. “Wasn’t there a gun lying there before?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Diego asked, crossing the room to look out as well. “Oh yeah, I guess so. You think Klaus wandered off to do some target practice?”

Luther joined them, steering the restrained attacker ahead of him. “Extraction team’s ten minutes out by ground.” He motioned towards the balcony. “Allison and I are going to escort these guys down and help do a final sweep of the installation.” 

Ben nodded, still surveying the facility. “Check on Klaus when you get down there?”

Luther and the thug were out on the balcony now, but Allison had heard him. She had the weapon case in one hand, the opposite arm helping to support the injured soldier. Captain Prasad mirrored her on the soldier’s other side, acting as his crutches so he could keep the weight off his twisted leg. “Of course,” Allison said, “we’ll make sure he’s keeping out of trouble.”

The weapons specialist glanced back up, regarding Ben with a final, unnerving flash of fear. Ben’s eyes followed him as the group slowly disappeared from the balcony. A clanging metal sound reverberated through the control room as the group made their awkward descent down the tower’s stairs. 

When they were out of sight, Diego left the window to search the bodies of the two dead attackers left in the control room. Ben didn’t even flinch at the sound of Diego wrenching his knife out of the leader’s skull. He had a bad feeling that he couldn’t explain away as the disquiet he always felt after unleashing The Horror. 

What was he missing? 

His eyes flicked back to the East Gate. It was as still as it had ever been, but the van— 

The side door of the van was open. 

Ben was _sure_ it had been closed when they left the East Gate. When they left Klaus with one of the incapacitated thugs. Who _had_ to still be incapacitated.

…didn’t he?

“Guys, I think we need to check on Klaus _now,”_ Ben said, trying to keep the fear from reaching his voice on the radio. 

Diego heard it, though, and he returned to Ben’s side, peering out the window to see what had alarmed his brother. 

Luther radioed an acknowledgement and a request for clarification. In the background Ben heard Allison corralling their companions, turning over their prisoner to the captain so they could jog the rest of the way down. 

“What—” Diego started to ask.

Outside the gate, headlights flicked on as the van revved to life. 

“Oh _shit,”_ Diego cursed. He spun around and sprinted out the door onto the balcony. Ben ran out after him, and leaned over the handrail to get a better look at the vehicle. The ground seemed so, so far down. Diego made a sudden movement towards the stairs and Ben grabbed him. 

“Wait!” Ben pleaded, “Dad said we need to stay in the control tower until the extraction team—”

The van started to back up, side door still open. _“You’re_ the one who was worried about him—” Diego argued, sparing Ben only a glance as he flung a knife towards the vehicle. 

Ben raised his voice, “—if there are more at the gate there could be more coming after the radio beacons, we should focus on _fortifying_ the control room—” Diego’s knife embedded in the van’s front tire but only seemed to slow the vehicle’s reversing slightly. 

_“Fuck_ the beacons!” Diego interrupted. He turned from Ben and started jogging down the stairs. Diego’s voice carried across the radio as he called back up, “I didn’t know you cared more about playing _daddy’s good little soldier_ than the safety of your own brother.”

Diego’s words struck Ben to his core, and after a moment he cursed to himself and hurried down the stairs after him. There was only one way into the tower, he rationalized, anyone who wanted to get in there would have to pass by the two of them anyway. 

Ben reached the highest landing at about the same time Luther and Allison reached the base of the stairs. Ben tried to keep his eyes on the van as he flew down the dizzying spiral of the tower. Now some thirty yards from the gate, the van paused and then thrust into drive. 

A teenager-sized bundle fell from the van.

Ben felt his heart catch in his throat as the van sped off in earnest. 

Ben couldn’t have told you how he caught up with Diego, or what Captain Prasad said to them when they passed her on the stairs, or how long it took them to reach the ground, except that it felt like no time at all and also a million years. 

_Klaus_ had to be okay — 

— Klaus who rolled joints under the dinner table — who could break up fights between Diego and Luther with a single well-timed quip after Ben had talked himself hoarse trying to reason with them. Klaus who snuck out to parties then downed gallons of coffee to sober up enough for missions —

— Klaus who stole volumes of Shakespeare for Ben, even though the library housed a complete set, just because he liked the illustrations on the cover —

— Klaus who almost ruined Ben’s prized leather jacket trying to get the smell of smoke out of it after he wore it to a rave — who didn’t know how to ask for permission or forgiveness —

— Klaus who sometimes _pretended_ to sneak out, only to end up in the observatory, searching for constellations through the thick midnight sky —

Yes, Ben was sure, Klaus had to be okay. 

Ben barely noticed the first body he passed, pressed to the ground by the severed flagpole. As he and Diego passed through the gate, Ben scarcely glanced at the second body, still held to the wall by Diego’s knife. But while Diego ran ahead to meet the others, Ben searched the darkness for the third enemy who _should_ have still been on the ground. 

The bald man, who Allison had paralyzed with a rumor, who Luther had restrained, who _Ben_ had convinced his sister to spare, _who they all left with Klaus_ —

— was gone. 

The world seemed to narrow to the tire tracks that separated Ben from his siblings, and he stumbled towards the huddled group. 

As Ben broke through a gap between Luther and Diego, his first instinct was relief. Klaus was awake, he was talking. He was lying on his back in the spot where he had fallen or been thrown from the van, his right arm draped over his torso. His voice was hoarse and soft but oddly gleeful and Ben could only catch every third word: “…Seven… handicap… _won…”_

Ben looked at Allison, who was kneeling closest to him, the weapons case discarded next to her. She glanced up with a deep frown. “He’s totally out of it; he thinks we’re playing capture-the-flag or something. He thinks Five and Vanya are with us.”

Luther spoke, trying to keep his voice light, “I know our games got intense as kids, but I don’t remember capture-the-flag being this violent.”

As Ben’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, a contrast from the bright fluorescence of the installation, confusion turned to alarm. Klaus had a big lump to his left temple, his pupils seemed uneven (where was his mask?), and _(fuck)_ his headphones were snaked around his neck, covering dark ligature marks. Ben could hear tinny guitars still whining through the Walkman, which was… which was lying somewhere above his head, splattered with blood on one of its corners. Someone had tried to garrote him with the wire from his own big dumb headphones, maybe to try to manhandle him into the vehicle, and then tried to bash his head in with the _stupid_ Walkman itself when he fought back. 

What would’ve happened if he hadn’t thrown himself out of that van?

The Walkman’s metallic hum was soon drowned out by the sound of the extraction team approaching from the ground as well as a helicopter descending from above. Klaus didn’t seem to hear, keeping that asymmetrical gaze unflinchingly fixed on Allison. 

“C’mon,” Luther was shaking Diego, who seemed frozen next to Ben, “let’s see if the chopper has a stretcher we can grab.” He tugged Diego by the arm towards the helicopter’s landing site.

Suddenly alone with Allison and Klaus, Ben circled his brother’s body and knelt by his left side. The sound of the helicopter touching down was all but drowning out Klaus’ addled speech, but he turned his sluggish attention to Ben, and Ben strained to hear him wheeze, “…who knew… we beat the mighty _onetwothree…_ we won, Six.” Klaus tried to raise a hand to him, and his expression flickered with agony. 

“Yeah,” Ben said softly, “We won, Klaus.” Ben clasped his outstretched hand but found it was wet and sticky. He recoiled. “Allison, he’s bleeding,” he whispered. 

“What?” she asked, alarmed. “Where?” She ran her hands across Klaus’ shoulders, behind the back of his neck, over his scalp. Klaus’ gaze drifted to her at the touch. 

It was hard to tell, shiny dark blood blurring in with shiny dark leather. “His stomach, I think, maybe his chest. _Fuck,”_ Ben uttered a rare curse, “my flashlight’s in my tac bag, I left everything in the tower.”

“Ben, it’s okay, he’ll be okay. Just see if you can put pressure on the area. The others are coming.”

Ben had never been so grateful for his bossy sister in his life. Even without her rumors, he believed her instinctually, would have done anything she said. His shaking hands found a wound, warm and bleeding, on Klaus’s left lower abdomen. Ben took a deep breath in, then pressed down with all his might, leaning his weight into it, wincing at Klaus’ strangled sob. 

“Is it a bullet wound?” Allison asked. 

“I think so,” Ben said, then realized, “Allison, I saw a flash, when… when Luther was busting down the door. I thought it was a lighter, but maybe — someone should have checked — I didn’t even radio him—“

Allison shook her head. “There wasn’t time, we didn’t know what was happening behind that door. You were right, we had to stick together.” She glanced up, somewhere behind Ben’s shoulder. “The boys have a stretcher, when we turn him I want you to look for an exit wound, okay? Luther has a flashlight.” 

Ben nodded. Allison unzipped the front of Klaus’ jumpsuit, and at her signal her brothers rolled Klaus to her, tugging the top half of the suit off his shoulders and exposing his torso. He was wearing a purple tank underneath, which Ben tugged up from his waist while Luther and Diego wedged the stretcher beside him. Luther’s flashlight, balanced between his neck and his shoulder, illuminated bruises blooming across Klaus’ flank and the right side of his chest, maybe concealing some broken ribs. The harsh light confirmed Ben’s fears about a bullet wound, and — “No exit wound,” Ben said, helping to lower his brother onto the stretcher, then resuming the pressure to the gunshot wound.

Luther eyed a rectangular laceration across Klaus’ collarbone. “They pistol-whipped him: that cut is from a magazine. Why would they…?” For a moment, Luther sounded lost and innocent and vulnerable. Steeling himself, he grasped the handles at the top of the stretcher and motioned for Diego to grab the ones at the bottom. 

Ben was sure he was the only one close enough to hear Klaus wheeze out, “No magazine… left it at home… _promise…_ ” as they hoisted him into the air. 

Ben tried to keep an even pressure on his abdomen, although his hands felt slicker by the second. Klaus’ arms flailed wildly in alarm at the movement, and Allison juggled the weapons case in her hands, freeing up an arm to reach out to Klaus and stop his thrashing. 

Four siblings stumbled towards the helicopter with the stretcher bearing a fifth balanced between them. Ben barely noticed that the extraction team was emerging from a SWAT vehicle, twelve seasoned agents advancing in formation towards the installation. They spared barely a glance at the teenagers making for the helicopter like a lopsided spider. 

Ben wished for a moment that he had volunteered to carry the stretcher (it was so hard to get the leverage to hold pressure, Klaus was still bleeding, he could feel it, but maybe Luther could have stemmed it) but finally they had him loaded and the stretcher secured. The pilot yelled at them to get in their seats, but they took no notice. He insisted a few more times before giving up, yelling, “There’s a trauma center twenty minutes out—” 

“No,” Luther said, scrambling forward to interrupt him. He pulled his mask off to meet the pilot’s eyes. “We go straight home.”

“What?!” Diego looked up from where he was searching the cabin for a first aid kit. “H-he—” Ben saw Diego’s mouth trying to form the words, but no sound came out.

“He needs a hospital,” Allison said, strapping the weapons case down. Diego nodded in agreement, pulling off his mask.

Luther narrowed his eyes, then turned back to the pilot. “Home. As quick as possible.” 

The pilot gave a terse nod. “It’ll be thirty-five, maybe forty minutes. That’s the best I can do.” He turned his eyes back to the controls.

Allison was yelling, but her voice was drowned out by the roar of the helicopter blades. Luther steadied himself against a seat while the helicopter made its initial quaking ascent. Ben braced himself against Klaus, while Diego and Allison steadied themselves on the cabin walls. Ben felt, rather than heard, Klaus whimper at the motion.

 _Hold on,_ Ben thought. _Please hold on_. 

* * *

When the ride had smoothed a bit, Luther jumped forward to rejoin them on the floor, helping Diego to remove Klaus’ boots and the rest of his jumpsuit. Other than a deep purple welt on his thigh, it looked like most of his injuries were confined to his upper half. Klaus had never been shy about his body; he regarded both it and others’ reactions to it with a kind of blithe curiosity. Hell, he was probably nurturing a little exhibitionist streak, but all the same it felt to Ben like an invasion of privacy to see him and all his pain on display. 

The helicopter quieted slightly, and Allison resumed the argument. “He needs a hospital. A trauma center — they have experts.”

“Mom’s an expert.” Luther was avoiding her gaze, pulling a mylar blanket over Klaus’ lower half. “She’s an expert in _everything_ , anything he needs, surgery or anything, she can do it perfectly. We get him to mom and dad and he’ll be fine. Mom’s our best shot.” It was an argument aimed more at Diego than Allison, and it surprised Ben in its dexterity. Ben could already see Diego’s resolve wavering as he fumbled on gloves from the helicopter’s first aid kit.

“That’s not going to matter if… if it takes too long to get there,” Allison countered. “Ben, you agree with me and Diego, right?”

Ben opened his mouth, as did Diego, but Luther cut them off. “This isn’t a democracy. This is a team, and I’m the leader. It’s my decision.” 

“We need to think of this as a family, Luther, Klaus is _dying_ —”

Diego found his voice again, “And why is that?” he asked, eyes carefully trained on the wounds he was daubing with antiseptic. “How come your rumor failed?”

Ben steeled himself and pressed down on Klaus’ abdomen with renewed resolve. Slivers of moonlight flickered across his face and Ben saw him gasp, eyes clenched shut in silent agony. _I’m sorry,_ Ben thought, _I’m so sorry that they’re going to do this now._ His siblings erupted in argument and Ben let the noise wash over him. 

“Bullshit, my rumors never fail—”

“—maybe when that guy grabbed you in the tower—” 

“—I was happy letting the man suffocate to death, but _Ben_ —” 

“—someone hiding?—”

“— _probably high_ —”

“—you and me both heard him talk to the dead soldiers—”

“—but _after,_ he was alone, we all know what he gets up to—”

“—there were _six,_ everyone said there were only six—”

The helicopter hit a sudden pocket of turbulence and everyone was jolted from their places, stemming the fighting. In the silence, Luther flicked his flashlight on. Klaus looked like a ghastly specter in the harsh light, more dead than alive. He seemed to glitter, his skin a shiny patchwork of bruises, blood and sweat. Allison reached across him and grabbed his left wrist, just over the umbrella tattoo. The hand looked nearly translucent in contrast to the drying blood, and Allison frowned when she squeezed his fingertip to check his capillary refill. She motioned for Luther to raise the flashlight higher, illuminating his face from below. 

Ben could see Klaus’ chest rising and falling shallowly. His arms were starting to cramp from holding pressure on the wound, and the blood was cooling and coagulating on Ben’s arm like a sick rubber glove. For a second he was tempted to call The Horror — if It was good for one thing, It could hold a wicked squeeze — but The Horror was nothing if not a predator, and when Ben looked at his brother right now all he could see was prey. 

Allison was stroking Klaus’ face, murmuring gentle words to him, trying to coax him into opening his eyes. When that didn’t work, she rubbed his breastbone with her knuckles, lightly at first, and then leaning into it with a deep sternal rub. Klaus didn’t seem to feel it, although his brow remained furrowed.

Some desperate idea flitted across Allison’s face, and then before anyone could react she leaned over him and whispered, “Klaus? Hey, Klaus, _I heard a rumor you opened your eyes, I heard a rumor you said something_ _—_ ”

— and then Klaus opened his eyes but they were dull and vacant —

— and his lips moved saying the same thing over and over — 

_“Something,”_ he whispered, voice hoarse and broken. A trickle of blood escaped from Klaus’ lips. 

The rest of the helicopter stilled, Luther and Diego rooted to their spots in mute horror. 

Chest shuddering with effort, Klaus spoke again, spraying a fine mist of blood — _“Something, something_ —” and under his voice was a terrible wheeze — _Couldn’t anyone see what she was doing to him?_ —

“Stop it!” Ben leaned towards his sister as far as he could without abandoning the wound— “Allison, stop— _Allison_ he’s going into shock—”

Her face crumpled. 

Allison doubled over, her lips next to Klaus’ ear, whispering something too soft to hear, and he exhaled and his eyes closed and his brow relaxed and his lips stopped moving. Ben thought for a horrified second that Allison might have… might have _given him permission to go_ , to put it one way, or maybe just _put him out of his misery,_ to put it less delicately. But after a terrifying moment Ben could see Klaus’ chest rising and falling under the mass of bruises, breaths shallow but even. 

When Allison sat back up she was crying, real ugly tears, not the pretty ones she practiced in the mirror sometimes. “Jesus, Ben,” she snapped, clutching Klaus’ hand to her chest, “you always have to be fucking _right_ , don’t you?”

Ben stared at her dumbly. “You were hurting him.” 

Allison was preparing a retort, but it was Luther who spoke, his voice ragged. “We can’t do this — _oh_ , I screwed up…” He fumbled the flashlight as he stood, stumbling forward to exchange words with the pilot. The flashlight rolled across the helicopter cabin, casting their silhouettes in grotesque relief against the walls before it rolled the other way. 

Diego shuffled on his knees next to Allison. “Ben, I have to clean the wound. Count of three, lift your hands, okay?”

Ben nodded. Whatever Allison had said to Klaus had softened his breathing, and Ben could almost pretend he was sleeping. When Diego reached “three,” Ben lifted his hands— he could barely see them in the dark helicopter, but the blood on them was cooling rapidly. While Diego poured some kind of solution on the wound, Allison passed Ben a sanitizing wipe. Ben stared at it for a moment but couldn’t quite figure out what to do with it.

“For your hands,” she said as gently as she could, voice still harsh and nasal from crying. 

_Oh_ , Ben thought. He rubbed his hands dully, staining the wipe dark. He couldn’t get the blood out from between his fingers or around his nails, and it had painted stubborn outlines on his calluses. 

Diego glanced up at Ben from where he was laying down a thick gauze pad over the wound. “You okay to keep holding, or you want someone to switch out?”

Ben shook his head. He needed to do this for Klaus; his mind had grasped onto the task like lifeline. It seemed to be the only useful thing he could remember how to do, and he thought he might just fall apart if someone took it away from him. “Please let me do this,” he whispered.

Diego nodded. “Allison, I think there’s another pair of gloves…” 

Ben fumbled them on. His hands were still sticky, still _bloody_ underneath, and he couldn’t get all the way into the tips of the gloves’ fingers. They made his hands look so small. Diego let go of the gauze and Ben heaved his weight back down onto the wound. 

Separated from Klaus’ wound now by the gloves and the gauze pad, Ben left a peculiar distance from the scene. Klaus continued to breathe shallowly, oblivious to the world around him. 

He was… just a body, mostly lifeless. 

Ben had seen lots of bodies before. 

When Luther returned his grim expression was visible even in the dark. “It’s, uh, too late to head to a hospital. We’re fifteen minutes from home.” He looked away. “They radioed dad already but I think I’ll, um, try to get in touch with Pogo, make sure things are set up, you know.” He nodded at nothing in particular, then retreated to one of the helicopter’s seats and pulled out his comm set. 

Diego continued to poke through the first aid kit, eyes unfocused. He kneaded an unopened elastic bandage in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Allison said, smoothing the hair from Klaus’ forehead. 

Ben couldn’t have said which sibling she was addressing. “Me too,” he said, to no one and everyone as well. 

“I told him not to feel any pain, just until mom sees him. That… that should be okay, right?” Allison sounded so, so unsure. 

“Yes,” Ben said. “That was good thinking. Allison, I wasn’t trying to tell you how to use your powers—” 

“No, you were right, I didn’t see what I was doing. I’m supposed to be in _control,_ that’s my thing, and it’s so hard to…” She trailed off. “I’m trying,” she finished. 

“Me too,” Ben said, flexing his fingers against the bandage. Klaus was so still beneath it. He spoke carefully, “but I’m not sure this is something any of us can control.”

Diego made a sudden strangled sound and chucked the bandage at the helicopter window, where it bounced and landed on one of the seats. He continued to thrash in a silent fit for a moment, then fell back against the helicopter floor, knees bent and chest heaving, wide eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling. 

Allison regarded Diego’s quiet tantrum for a moment, then looked back at Ben. “Can you talk to Klaus?” she asked, her strong facade deflating. “He likes your voice. Please, I’m so tired of talking.” 

Ben nodded, trying to think of something to say. When no words of his own came, he found someone else’s. 

_“Herein will I imitate the sun,_ ” he started, grasping at the first of Shakespeare’s monologues that came to mind, _“who… permits the base contagious clouds to smother up his beauty from the world,”_ and that wasn’t quite right but it gave him a foothold, _“That, when he please again to be himself, being wanted, he may be more wondered at, by breaking through the foul and ugly mists of vapors that did seem to_ — _”_ Ben’s voice hitched, eyes finding the angry marks on Klaus’ neck, _“…s-strangle him.”_

Ben couldn’t bear a comedy, couldn’t stomach a tragedy, but a history was safe enough, and he found his voice again, skipping ahead, _“So, when this loose behavior I throw off and pay the debt I never promised, by how much better than my word I am, by so much shall I falsify men's hopes."_ It was Prince Hal, Ben realized, the miscreant son with so much more to give. 

The words barely mattered, all that mattered was filling the silence. _“I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; redeeming time when men think least I will.”_ Ben had pulled the monologue from somewhere deep inside him, and meant for it to be a distraction but it came out like a prayer. 

The words hung in the air, and Ben tried to think of something else to say. “Henry IV part one,” he explained lamely. “I’ll read it to you sometime, Klaus. I think you’d like it.” 

His words sounded hollow, and he didn’t quite believe them himself. Klaus hated sitting still, and he’d much rather sing along to boy bands with Ben than read Shakespeare with him. 

But with his brother lying unconscious beneath his hands, Ben decided it was okay to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Coriolanus.


	3. when blood is their argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siblings lend their aid. Ben has a reunion.

The troupe waiting on the roof of the Academy formed an odd fashion plate: Vanya in her robin's egg blue pajamas, Pogo in his suit, and Grace’s plastic gown sheathing her voluminous skirts. True to Allison’s word, when the stretcher was unloaded and Grace started to examine Klaus, his breathing accelerated again, his brow knit, and he started to whimper feverishly, barely audible over the sound of the helicopter departing. _“I told him not to feel any pain, just until mom sees him,”_ Allison had said. Evidently her anesthetic rumor was wearing off. 

Something in Grace’s expression flickered with calculating concern. “Girls, I think you’ll have to take the stairs,” she said, regarding Allison and Vanya. “Boys, come on.” She motioned them towards the rarely used elevator. Diego and Luther hustled the stretcher across the roof, and Ben struggled to keep up. 

The sound of Klaus’ keening echoed in the crowded elevator. Diego and Luther stood stiffly at each end of the stretcher, with Grace attaching monitor electrodes to Klaus’ chest, Pogo tutting in the corner, and Ben still just trying to keep pressure on the wound. The fluorescent overhead light gave Ben a full view of all Klaus’ injuries for the first time, and Ben’s eyes flickered from the ligature marks on his neck to the laceration on his collarbone to the wound on his abdomen, now just barely concealed beneath a thick gauze pad. 

The elevator _dinged_ and the group hurried out again. As they wound through the corridors, Ben focused on the clatter of their feet rather than Klaus’ whimpers. The elevator wasn’t directly adjacent to the infirmary, and by the time they reached the medical wing the girls were waiting. 

Allison had a confused expression on her face. “I thought dad would be waiting. Where is he? I’ll go get him.” 

“No, dear,” Grace said. She dipped her hands in the sanitizing solution that Ben knew would be strong enough to cause third-degree burns to human flesh. “He had to go out. He’ll be back soon.” She fixed Diego with a look before he could comment. “Let’s get your brother on the operating table.” 

Pogo really had been preparing, and once they opened the door to the operating suite they had to maneuver the stretcher between tables of scalpels, the ancient ventilator and telemetry monitor, and the IV pole, fluids ready to be connected. Even with the bright surgical light, the scene seemed dismally medieval. Ben tried not to imagine how different a real trauma hospital might look, with shiny new equipment, modern diagnostic imaging, and a team bigger than a robot housewife and a talking chimpanzee. 

Opposite the operating table and facing away was a medical recliner, and once the boys had gotten Klaus off the stretcher, Pogo indicated towards it. “Master Luther, I believe we discussed the need for blood products.” 

Wordlessly, Luther took a seat, shimmying out of the top half of his jumpsuit so his arms were exposed. Grace addressed the two other boys, eyes trained on Klaus’ right arm where she was feeling for veins. “Diego, Ben, thank you for your help. We’ll take it from here.” Ben slowly lifted his hands from Klaus’ wound, hands feeling oddly numb. Diego looked like he might protest, might insist on staying, but seeing Grace reach for a needle to start an IV, he grabbed Ben’s arm and retreated to the sinks outside the door. 

The two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, washing their hands, and Ben felt some sensation return to his arms as the warm water rushed over them, turning the water rusty brown. He still couldn’t get all the blood out from around his nails, and words from another play floated into his mind: _Out, damned spot!… What, will these hands ne'er be clean?_

Ben grimaced. It was a little too on the nose, even for his own dramatic sensibilities. 

He took his time drying his hands before sliding down the wall next to Diego to face his sisters. The leather of his jumpsuit squeaked against the wood paneling. He brought his knees up in front of him, while across him Allison had her legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. The weapons case rested in her lap. In the hallway’s yellow light, he noticed a blood splatter across the top.

Vanya was sitting cross-legged opposite Diego, her hands in her lap. “What happened?” she asked. “I was asleep, then there was all this commotion…”

“We don’t really know—” Ben hedged, hugging his legs closer. 

“Klaus was alone,” Diego interrupted, anger simmering below the surface. Where Ben had curled tightly on himself, Diego was sitting with body stiff and angular. “Someone attacked him, he got hurt.”

“Hurt how?” Vanya asked. 

“Shot,” Ben said, at the exact same time Allison said, “Strangled,” at the exact same time Diego said, “Beaten.”

Vanya opened her mouth then closed it again. 

“It looked like they were trying to— kidnap him, or something, I think he threw himself out of the van while they were taking off,” Allison explained. 

“Why?” Vanya asked.

“Dangerous stuff like that happens to us sometimes,” Diego snapped. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Diego’s anger was familiar, and Ben could see Vanya absorbing it unflinchingly. “Diego, we don’t understand it either,” Ben said wearily. 

Diego snorted. “I’m just saying, you should consider yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with any of this _shit,_ Vanya."

“I— I do, Diego,” Vanya said, looking down at her hands.

 _“Anyway,_ where’s Luther?” Allison asked, crossing her arms. 

“Giving blood,” Ben answered, glancing at the closed infirmary door. 

Allison nodded and looked away. After a moment, Vanya stood awkwardly. “I’ll just…” She gestured vaguely down the hallway. Ben nodded, although he couldn’t say exactly what she was indicating, and she left the three siblings alone, in silence. 

Ben relaxed his arms. His leather jumpsuit felt more restrictive than ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the infirmary to go change. Allison, too, started shifting around awkwardly, while Diego sat still as a stone. Ben closed his eyes. Images from the night flashed in his mind on repeat: the bald enemy kneeling in front of Allison. The soldier squeezed in The Horror’s strangling grip. The gun aimed straight at Ben’s head. The van speeding off, leaving Klaus beaten and bloodied on the ground. Klaus in the helicopter, eyes dull and vacant, blood trickling from his mouth. The enemy. The soldier. The gun. The van. Klaus. The enemy. The soldier. The gun. The van. Klaus. Klaus. Klaus. 

The images gained a droning soundtrack, which Ben thought at first was some kind of psychological static. He opened his eyes, though, when Allison asked, “Do you hear that?” The noise swelled from outside, getting closer and more ominous, enveloping the Academy in sound.

Simultaneously, the three siblings identified the noise. “Dad’s plane,” they said in unison.

Allison looked around uncertainly. “Should I go tell him…?”

Diego’s arms crossed tighter. “He knows.” 

The three fell back into silence.

* * *

It was pure instinct that made Ben stand at attention when Sir Reginald appeared at the end of the hall, aviator cap and flying gloves still on. He winced, Diego’s jab about _playing daddy’s good little soldier_ landing home again. But as their father strode towards them, Diego stood too, as did Allison, discarding the weapons case on the floor to stand for inspection. 

Sir Reginald regarded the three siblings coolly when he reached them. “The weapon,” he demanded. 

Allison stood frozen for a second then scrambled to hand the case over. Sir Reginald turned away, making to continue down the hallway, and Allison burst out with, “Where have you been? Klaus is hurt—”

Sir Reginald paused, and then spoke in a frigid voice. “I am aware. I have been meeting with top military officials to try to clean up the mess you all made.” He turned to fix her with an excoriating stare. “This mission was not only an _unequivocal_ failure but veered indisputably into the territory of gross negligence.”

Diego’s mouth was moving silently, but by the time he recovered his voice, Sir Reginald had disappeared around the corner towards his office.

“Negligence?” Diego sputtered. 

“Diego…” Ben started. 

Ben could see Diego’s agitation level starting to ratchet up as he started to pace in front of the infirmary door like a caged animal. Allison watched him for a tense minute, then shook her head. “I’m going to go talk to him,” she said. 

Ben frowned. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” Dad would help Klaus, Ben was sure of it, but he didn’t want him to get distracted with petty squabbling or playing a blame game. 

Allison crossed her arms. “What does _that_ mean?”

Diego rounded on them before Ben could respond. “He _means_ your rumors haven’t exactly served us well tonight, have they?”

Which _wasn’t_ what Ben meant. “No, I just—” he started.

But Diego didn’t let him finish. “No, you know what? Allison, I’ll go with you.” His voice rose to a near-shout. “The _one fucking time_ Klaus follows directions it nearly gets him killed and he ends up alone and bleeding half to death. I’d like to hear what _exactly_ he thinks was so _negligent_ —”

“I was going to save it for the debriefing,” came Sir Reginald’s chilly voice as he rounded the corner once more. Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. Diego’s mouth slammed shut. Their father had discarded his flying apparel in favor of a starched white surgical gown and cap, and he was tugging on green rubber gloves. “But if you _insist_ on making a scene. Number Three, am I to understand that not only did you and Number One fail to rendezvous with the extraction team, you left a living insurgent with two injured hostages?” he asked, turning a frosty eye to Allison. 

Allison was taken aback. “He was incapacitated—”

Sir Reginald didn’t wait to hear her response before turning his attention to Diego and Ben. “Number Two and Number Six, you abandoned the control room despite my explicit instructions that you were to secure the tower? Leaving the radio beacons completely undefended?”

Ben shrank back under his father’s scrutiny, but Diego found the voice to confront him. “We had t-to—”

This time, however, it was Luther’s voice that interrupted. “They left on my instruction,” he said. Ben’s eyes swiveled to see him standing resolutely in the now-open door of the infirmary.

Sir Reginald regarded him with a tight look of disapproval. “I see. Well, Number One, I look forward to a complete accounting of your subversive and inept commands when we debrief. For the moment, I believe your mother needs my assistance in completing the laparotomy and achieving colonic anastomosis.”

Luther nodded dully and held the door open for his father until he disappeared into the surgical suite. When the door closed, Allison rushed forward to give him a hug. “How is Klaus?” she asked, voice muffled as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

“He’s…” Luther let go of her gently. He looked conflicted for a moment, then gave Allison a weak smile. “He’ll be fine. Dad’s here now.” Ben thought he sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as he was Allison, but he felt the tension in his body relax slightly. 

Allison nodded, and led Luther to sit with her once more against the opposite wall of the hallway. Luther looked at Diego, whose eyes hadn’t left the infirmary door since their father had disappeared inside. “He needs more blood. Pogo asked me to send you in.”

“Fine,” Diego said, turning towards the infirmary. After a second, he paused, addressing Luther with a turned back. “You didn’t need to cover for me, I stand behind my actions.”

“Great,” Luther said flatly, pulling his arms back into the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Save it for the debriefing. Klaus doesn’t need you wasting dad’s time out here instead of saving his life in there.”

Ben saw Diego’s hand twitch into a fist. “I’m not helpless, I’m not _Vanya—_ ” Diego whirled around —

— and all but collided with Vanya herself, who had reappeared unnoticed. She had changed out of her pajamas, and nearly dropped the tray she was carrying in surprise upon coming face-to-face with Diego.

Ben rushed forward to help her rebalance it, and Luther dove to grab an empty glass before it could smash on the floor. When Vanya recovered, she looked around helplessly, not quite able to meet Diego’s eyes. “I brought lemonade and cookies. I thought since people were giving blood…”

“Thank you, Vanya,” Allison said. Her voice hardened. “Diego, you wanna talk about help? Go be helpful.” She tilted her head meaningfully towards the infirmary. 

Diego gave her a sour look and made no move to apologize to Vanya before stalking into the surgical suite.

When the door closed, Allison rolled her eyes. “He can be such a _dick._ ”

Ben made a noncommittal noise and helped Vanya lower the tray to the floor between them. “Thanks, Vanya, really. This is great,” he said honestly. The cookies smelled fresh and homey, and looking at the ice floating in the pale yellow lemonade made him suddenly aware of the uncomfortable dryness in his throat. How long had it been since they left for the mission?

Luther was the first one to help himself to a cookie. He broke it in half, watching the half-melted chocolate chips ooze across the fault line. “You know,” he said, taking a thoughtful first bite, “Mom’s probably the only person who hears ‘major abdominal trauma’ and bakes a tray of cookies before performing surgery.”

Allison cracked a smile at that. She glanced at the cookies, then looked at Luther. “Do you think he’ll need more? Blood, I mean?”

Luther was suddenly very engrossed in the cookie. “I… wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Allison hmmed and then turned to Ben. “Maybe we should get changed? Just in case?” 

Ben was reluctant to leave the medical wing, but he let Allison lead him away, sparing a single glance back at Vanya and Luther sitting in awkward silence in front of the closed infirmary door. 

* * *

By the time Ben reached the dormitory wing, his small bedroom was illuminated by the first rays of dawn. The warm light suddenly made Ben feel bone tired. They had all been awake for over twenty-four hours at this point, he realized. Well, all except Vanya, and whatever sleep she’d managed to catch after they left for the mission. If he were the one left behind, Ben thought that he’d never be able to get any sleep at all. Maybe Diego was right, maybe Vanya really didn’t understand at all what dangers they faced out on missions. 

_But if she doesn’t know, it’s because we haven’t told her._

After all, staying behind was a routine for Vanya as much as going on missions was a routine for the rest of her siblings. They’d be summoned to the briefing room, sometimes first thing in the morning, sometimes in lieu of training, sometimes in the middle of the night, and Vanya would just… stay. She’d continue on with her math lessons or her etudes or her breakfast, alone in the big house with just Pogo and Mom, if Sir Reginald accompanied the Academy members on the mission. Not that their father paid her much mind when he was home in any case. And Vanya would wait for the only other children — not to mention practically the only other human beings — she’d ever known to return, sometimes giddy and triumphant, sometimes bruised and bleeding and hollow-eyed. Never with enough time for their quiet sister.

It must be terribly lonely, Ben realized. 

He resolved to be a better brother. When Klaus woke up, he’d make sure they hung out, just the three of them, because even if Ben ran out of things to say to Vanya, Klaus never would. 

When Klaus woke up.

Ben changed out of his jumpsuit, his undershirt drenched with sweat, and pulled on a t-shirt, jeans, and his favorite black hoodie. He’d never dared to dress so casually in his father’s presence before, but he couldn’t find the effort to care. He crossed the hall to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, gave his hair a quick comb. 

He could almost pretend it was a normal morning, if it wasn’t for the remnants of Klaus’ blood he still couldn’t scrub completely from his hands. 

Allison looked a little more bright-eyed when she met him in the hallway. Ben noticed she too had eschewed the Academy uniform, instead changing into a dark skirt and blue blouse, with a cardigan in her arms. 

“Are you ready to go back?” she asked.

Ben nodded, although he wasn’t ready, not really, to return to the waiting and the uncertainty and the terrible anticipation. 

They trudged through the lightening hallways, and by the time they returned to the medical wing, Diego was emerging from the surgical suite, face pale and drawn. He let Allison know it was her turn to give blood, and it was the lack of venom in Diego’s voice when he spoke that betrayed his utter exhaustion. 

Allison nodded and gave him a reassuring smile that he did not return before ducking into the infirmary. 

Ben took Allison’s spot next to Luther, facing the infirmary door, while Diego sat next to Vanya. She poured him a glass of lemonade and extended it to him like a peace offering. When Diego accepted it silently, even giving Vanya a nod of thanks, Luther looked halfway between embracing this new quiet Diego and ordering him to get his head checked out. 

Ben looked away from the silent confab towards the infirmary door. “Any news?” he asked. 

Staring blankly ahead, Diego said, “I tried asking Pogo, but all I got was the… simian silent treatment.” He snorted to himself dully. 

“He’ll be fine,” Luther said mechanically.

It was the third time he’d said it that night, and also the least convincing one.

 _That_ seemed to wake Diego up. He looked up at Luther sharply, then jumped up and started to stalk down the corridor. 

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, looking up at his brother in surprise. 

Diego turned back to them and pulled out his mask. “I’m going to go track down that van.”

Luther stood in alarm. “What? You can’t, that was hours ago—”

“—and a hundred miles away—” Ben broke in. 

Diego shrugged tightly and pulled his mask on. “It’s better than doing _fuck all_ here.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Vanya asked timidly. “I mean, you guys took a helicopter…”

“No idea,” Diego said, then he thought of something and reversed course — “…but dad must know!” he called, turning to jog past them and around the corner towards Sir Reginald’s office.

It took a second for his words to sink in, then Luther shouted, _“Diego!”_ and took off after his brother, nearly tripping over Vanya’s tray of refreshments. Ben and Vanya shared an anxious look. 

“He can’t really go after them, can he?” Vanya asked. 

Ben shrugged. In all honesty it wouldn’t be the most impulsive thing he’d ever seen his brother do. He was so, so tired of trying to police his siblings, trying to be the voice of reason that _no one ever listened to,_ and maybe what Allison said was true, maybe he did always want to be fucking _right,_ and he was so tired of being the responsible one.

…but then he thought of Klaus on the stretcher, and how they hadn’t been content to just hurt them with their guns, how they must have snuck up on his unsuspecting brother and wrapped his headphones around his throat because it was the most convenient form of violence. Ben thought of how Diego flinched when they took cover from a hailstorm of bullets and how Klaus must have been afraid in the dark and so alone and Ben _did not want Diego’s blood on his hands too._

Literally _or_ figuratively.

So Ben rose and gave Vanya a little helpless look and jogged after his brothers.

He was relieved to see Diego hadn’t made it to Sir Reginald’s office, but his relief melted when he saw Diego was sporting a split lip courtesy of Luther, who had him pinned to the wall with his forearm. Diego was scrabbling against him, but Luther, long the tallest of his siblings, kept him at arm’s length easily, his chest heaving with only the barest exertion. 

“Luther!” Ben called, although he wasn’t sure what more to say. Diego saw his opportunity at Luther’s momentary distraction and wriggled free. He shoved Luther away and stumbled forward to steady himself on the wall, catching his bearings.

Ben took a few slow steps towards his brothers. He suddenly felt the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders. “Diego, you know those guys are long gone. How would you even get there?” he asked.

“Motorbike,” Diego spat, but stayed in place.

“Okay, well, it’s rush hour now, it’ll take you a full hour just to get out of the city even if you do find the installation coordinates in dad’s office.” Ben turned to appeal to his other brother. “Luther, you’re the one telling us not to distract mom or dad, busting up Diego’s face is not helping.”

Diego snorted. Luther looked down at his bloodied knuckles, face flickering with a hint of shame.

Ben looked between them. “Let’s go back. _Please_ ,” he said quietly, voice cracking on the final word.

Luther nodded silently, but Diego shook his head. “I can’t just sit here. I need to _do_ something,” Diego said, gritting out each word. 

Ben had no response to the _utter anguish_ in his voice.

“You’ve done plenty for him already,” came Allison’s voice, surprisingly calm and free of malice, from behind Ben. Ben turned to see her tugging her cardigan sleeve down over the bandage on her inner arm where they had drawn the donated blood. 

Allison took a deep breath and looked between her brothers, eying Diego and Luther still in their tactical jumpsuits. “Okay, since mom’s busy performing life-saving surgery, I’ll be mom and tell you that you’d both probably feel better if you changed into something more comfortable and had something to eat.” She kept her voice light, and Ben half-expected Diego to bite her head off for comparing herself to Grace, but after a silent moment he acquiesced and trudged after Luther towards the dormitory wing.

Ben stood watching them for a moment, until Allison placed a hand on his lower back. “They asked for you.” 

Ben nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

They walked back to the infirmary in silence, and when they reached the door to the surgical suite Ben couldn’t quite bear to meet either sister’s eyes. 

* * *

It was Pogo who was conducting the blood transfusions, apparently, and neither Sir Reginald nor Grace gave Ben so much as a glance when he slipped into the medical recliner. The operating table was facing away, his head towards the door, and Ben caught a glimpse of Klaus’ dark curls, the rest of his body hidden under surgical drapes. When Ben leaned back, his head could only be four or five feet away from his brother’s, and he could almost pretend it was one of their impromptu sleepovers. 

They used to pull those infernal electrodes off their foreheads and sneak into each other’s rooms, and Ben would read aloud until Klaus fell asleep, or cajole him into performing a scene with him, because to really _understand_ Shakespeare you had to read it out loud, of course. Or when they lay side-by-side with heads touching, Klaus would wedge his headphones between their ears and turn the volume all the way up, singing along off key, wriggling in place to the rhythm like he couldn’t possibly _not_ dance along. Sometimes Allison would join, bringing in magazines that gave them snippets of adolescent life in the outside world. They were alien in their normality, with quizzes like _“What’s your perfect fall beauty look?”_ (Klaus had been fascinated by the Halloween makeup tutorial), _“Find your signature prom style!”_ (Allison should get some chandelier earrings, apparently) and _“Are you unforgettable?”_ (Ben tried not to be offended that the magazine declared he had a “ticket to snoozeville”). 

And none of them would talk about what (dreams-memories-nightmares) woke them up in the first place.

These days, though, when Ben woke up in a cold sweat he was more likely to find Klaus’ room empty, fairy lights glinting off the unlatched window, than to find any solace there. Still worse was padding down the dark halls to find Klaus coming down from a high, nervy and wired or blissed out and loopy, eyes unfocused in a way that made Ben’s stomach turn. And so Ben found himself relying more on staring at the ceiling or rereading the same page over and over when insomnia gripped him; cold comfort compared to the secret, warm sleepovers of his childhood. 

Ben winced slightly as he felt a pinch in his arm. Crouched next to him, Pogo hummed. “Alright, Master Ben, now open and close your fist slowly. Good, just like that.” He released the tourniquet and returned to his place at the operating table. 

As Ben pumped his fist and tried not to focus on the sting of the needle in his arm, he kept his eyes trained on the walls of the infirmary, studying the ghoulish zoological plates that hung there. Straight ahead was the earthworm (identified by the diagram as genus _Lumbricus_ ), peeled open, cuticles drawn curtain-wide. To the left was the stone centipede (genus _Lithobius_ ), all sharp teeth and legs and pincers, and to the right was _Blattaeformia_ (the cockroach), grotesquely enlarged to match the dimensions of _Tropidonotus_ (the ring snake) beside it. Ben averted his gaze from the diagram he knew lay to his far left, the tentacled cuttlefish (genus _Sepia_ ; easy to remember, like the pigment). 

Pogo had rejoined Sir Reginald and Grace, and Ben caught snippets of their clipped clinical discussion — sponge counts and estimated blood loss and mean arterial pressure. Ben wished it meant something to him. He’d never taken to reading biology texts with as much fervor as he had his literary escapes, and their childhood lessons had focused more on inflicting blood loss than treating it. 

Ben craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of the operating table directly behind him, but couldn’t see more than a sliver of the white figures silhouetted against the bright surgical lights. As he turned back, his eyes settled on the diagram of the cuttlefish, tentacles akimbo and arms splayed out, body sliced open and organs on display.

The drawing of the cephalopod had always bothered Ben, not least because when they were young his brothers had dug out the accompanying explanatory text and teased him about it, asking where _his_ “horny teeth” and “abundant suckers” were. 

But more discomfiting than the childhood taunting was the cuttlefish diagram’s resemblance to the early days of Ben’s training. His father had been researching ways to draw The Horror out, shocking Ben into summoning It instinctively when he had been terrified of his body’s unwelcome cohabitant. Once frightened into existence, Sir Reginald took series after series of x-rays, documenting with interest as The Horror receded back into Its fleshy human host. Ben had nightmares for months that his father was going to take him to the dissection table, nail him down with anatomic pins, slice his skin off, and examine his insides layer by layer, no longer content with mere radiographic examination.

(“Your father wouldn’t do that,” Grace comforted, but Ben had never been totally convinced.)

Ben closed his eyes and let the beeping of the monitors lull him into a near-trance.

Somewhere, maybe in a desk drawer or file cabinet, were the x-ray films — his own optical vivisection — which his father had regarded with less compassion than the zoologist had for _Sepia officinalis._

(Ben hadn’t minded the comparison, however, when Klaus had hugged him tight after a nightmare one night and declared him “an excellent cuddle-fish.”)

* * *

It took Dr. Pogo three tries to rouse Ben when his blood donation finished, and Ben felt strangely sluggish when he turned to leave the infirmary. He suddenly understood the impulse Diego had felt to flee the Academy to track down the van, to do anything other than return to the arduous wait with his siblings.

Luther and Diego had both changed, but still looked stiff in their casual clothing. They seemed to be avoiding looking at each other, despite sitting directly opposite on either side of the hallway. 

Ben didn’t realize Pogo had trailed him out until Vanya half-rose and asked, “Is it my turn?”

Pogo’s voice was slightly muffled under his surgical mask. “That… won’t be necessary.”

“Oh.” Vanya lowered herself back to sitting, then asked hesitantly, “Is it… because I’m not like them?” She kept her eyes trained on the floor. 

Before Pogo could reply, Luther spoke up. “I could go again.” 

Diego shot him a look. “So could I.”

Pogo put a hand up. “No, children, Master Klaus does not require any further blood at this time. Thank you all.” He gave them all a stiff nod before returning to the infirmary.

Ben sat between Diego and Vanya and pulled his knees up to his chest, with no energy to engage his siblings. Allison nudged the tray of refreshments towards him, and regarded the closed infirmary door for a second before asking, “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Vanya shrugged weakly. “It could be good,” she said, her voice as weak as her words. 

Diego tightened his crossed arms. “They’re giving up on him,” he muttered.

Allison looked at him sharply. “He’s a fighter,” she said. And Ben could hear that those weren’t her words, but an echo of every saccharine medical melodrama she had ever devoured. Because those were the words you were supposed to say when someone you loved was trapped inside the sudden wreckage of their body, threatening to become unmoored from life itself, and you couldn’t do a _damn_ thing to help them. 

It was a fairly convincing act, but then she’d always been a true performer.

Diego met her eyes, and Ben knew he’d spotted the artifice as well. “He’s not. He never _fucking wanted_ to fight, and you know it.” 

Her composure slipped and she looked away. “What do you want me to say?” she asked bitterly.

Luther wrapped a protective arm around her. “You don’t have to say anything,” Luther said, “Let’s just… chill.” 

Silence fell on the group. 

Luther closed his eyes and did an admirable impersonation of _chill,_ and Diego restrained himself from any further prevarication, and Allison tried to get comfortable in the silence, and Vanya retreated inside herself. 

And so did Ben.

* * *

Ben can’t guess at what time it is, or quantify how long it’s been since he left the infirmary. He watches the shape of the sunspot on the floor narrow with the rising sun. He hears the sounds of traffic filter in. 

He is aware of the world moving on, on, on while they try their best to remain still. 

The infirmary door opens. Ben’s vision narrows to the doorway, where a lone figure stands, silhouetted by the dazzling surgical lights. 

Ben can’t see their face, but then they step into the hallway and Ben sees —

“Klaus?” Ben whispers.

It’s Klaus, tired but resolute, wearing his bloodstained Academy uniform. His eyes are bright and clear-eyed, and he looks between his siblings with a sense of wonder that seems to say, _all this for little ol’ me?_ He walks with a wicked limp and nearly staggers as he approaches them, freeing an arm from splinting his wound to right himself along the wall. 

Ben rushes forward to help him. Everything else melts away. His siblings chatter around him, but Ben doesn’t hear the words. His mother and father and Pogo trail Klaus out of the infirmary, but Ben can’t see their faces —

Ben steps forward and wraps his arms around his Klaus’ stomach, unable to help himself despite the wound he knows lies beneath. Mom must have fixed him, he must have been made strong and whole by their blood now flowing through his veins —

Klaus hugs Ben back, hugs him high up on his shoulders, and his chin is balanced on top of Ben’s head. When did Klaus get so tall? Ben looks down and sees Klaus is wearing Grace’s turquoise heels, too big for his feet, and no wonder he’s limping, one of the heels is broken, and Ben closes his eyes and hugs Klaus tight, and Klaus makes a muffled groan, and Ben loosens his grip just enough to look up at his bruised jaw —

“Klaus,” Ben says, and he is uncertain now, because this is not the Klaus that lay under his hands in the helicopter, this is some other Klaus who is newly named and newly silenced, and does not yet know the pain his flesh is heir to, and his siblings try to warn of his outrageous fortune —

“Leave,” they chorus, shuffling around the brothers as a pack, “Leave,” they say, and Ben spots Five next to Vanya, aged by the whips and scorns of time, and “Leave,” they say, grunting and sweating, and Ben hugs Klaus tighter as they press in —

and Ben is made a coward. 

“Stay,” Ben says, because he cannot bear to let go.

and Klaus looks between them, sicklied over with the pale cast of thought, between Ben and his siblings, and his gaze turns awry, beyond, into the nothingness that always grips him when he is clear-eyed, into the undiscovered country

and he tries to speak but _his jaw is wired shut_

and 

  
  


Ben awoke with a jolt.

It took several slow blinks to reconcile the world in front of him from the dream that had seemed so, so real. 

And when Ben looked in the doorway, it wasn’t Klaus but Pogo.

Dr. Pogo slowly removed his surgical mask, a frown stretched thin across his wide face.

“Children,” he started, “It is with my deepest regret that I must inform you…”

And he said something else, but Ben didn’t hear. Ben couldn’t hear anything at all, other than the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pumping away in his chest and The Horror whipping around wildly in his stomach. 

But Allison must have heard, because she buried her face in Luther’s shoulder and started sobbing. 

And Diego must have heard, because he punched his fist through the wall. 

And Vanya must have heard, because the color drained from her already-pale face and a silent tear escaped from her eye.

And then Pogo stepped aside, and their father stepped forward. His surgical gown was red with blood, and Grace was standing behind him with a disturbingly human expression on her face. The surgical suite was quiet and dark, and Pogo melted somewhere into the shadows. Ben’s body seemed to freeze into silence at the sight of Sir Reginald. 

Their father turned his chilling gaze to them and said, matter-of-factly, “Number Four died at nine forty-one this morning, the eighth of December, two thousand and six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [LittleRit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRit/pseuds/LittleRit) for feedback on the ending of this chapter!
> 
> Chapter title from Henry V.
> 
> The opening illustration is by Paul Pfurtscheller, an Austrian zoologist and artist whose illustrations can be seen in the flashback to Luther’s transformation. More of his work, including his full illustration of the cuttlefish, can be viewed through the public domain [ HathiTrust Digital Library](https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=coo.31924018440747&view=1up&seq=24).
> 
> Also, y’know, sorry you guys :c

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or come talk to me on tumblr [@flecket](http://flecket.tumblr.com/)! I always love to hear your thoughts ☺️


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